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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26705857">disquiet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sleepy Boys Inc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Injury, Mutebur, Muteness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:20:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,272</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26705857</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>wilbur soot hates the silence.</p><p>he hates even being silent himself.</p><p>[ so why can't he speak anymore ? ]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>no shipping litrally just fam dynamic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>277</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>disquiet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>It's dodgebolt, at least, that's what he remembers. They're in the last round. It's 2 points to 1.  He only remembers getting shot in the throat with an arrow by the opposing teammate, but he doesn't catch their name. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Teleported back to the sidelines, looking upon his team as they got the finishing blow. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The arrow pierced right through his throat, but he pulled up his shirt, pulling his jacket over the wound, cheering with Phil, Techno, and Tommy about their first win.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They're all happy, and they deserve it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He doesn't talk for the rest of the night, excusing himself home after the event with a weak "I'm tired."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur wakes up to a harsh pain in his throat, shooting out of bed. He swallows thickly, thinking it's a sore throat, and when he does, the pain is gone.  He clears his throat, but something just feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It's more hoarse than usual, and it hurts like hell to clear it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then he remembers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The pain that coursed through him, the blood that he coughed up immediately after getting shot in the throat with the arrow.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fuck.." He mutters, or at least tries to. What comes out is an unrecognizable whisper that makes him freeze to his core.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The brit opens his mouth to speak, to say anything after that, but nothing else comes out. Just unrecognizable, but a shadow of what his voice once was. In a blind panic, his first instinct is to call out for Phil in their shared house. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course he gets no answer. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He runs a hand through now disheveled hair matted with sweat. Who could've known that one night he wins the biggest tournament in all of the Realms he's ever been to, and the next he wakes up without even a sign of his voice being left?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He immediately goes to open his communicator.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Thank god for the vitals tab. </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Running scan on WilburSoot….</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>50% complete.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I don't know what I would do without this thing being linked to our vitals-</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>WilburSoot, your voice box is damaged. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>What.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The damage may be permanent. Your voice box has been left damaged for too long, and has been severely ruined in the process. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It is best to look for alternatives to communicating.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I can't have lost my voice.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>All other vitals reported functional.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>T̶h̷i̷s̴ ̵h̴a̷s̵ ̶t̴o̶ ̸b̵e̸ ̶a̵ ̷s̶i̸c̶k̶ ̸j̴o̵k̷e̵.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The more he looks at the vitals tab, the more fear he feels. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is real. It's in front of me. Why don't I believe it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His first instinct is to go grab his guitar. Maybe if he plays a bit, he'll feel better. Things will be okay if he plays, because that's what always happens!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabs the instrument and immediately begins strumming familiar chords, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Saline Solution.</span>
  </em>
  <span> As soon as it gets to his first lyric, he opens his mouth, and nothing comes out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No </span>
  <em>
    <span>one, two, three, and four!. </span>
  </em>
  <span>No </span>
  <em>
    <span>I think this time I'm dying.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just a broken whisper of what once was his voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Open Discord.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sleepy Boys Inc (officially not &amp; co anymore ! )</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>WilburSoot: </b>
  <span>phil </span>
</p><p>
  <b>WilburSoot: </b>
  <span>phil please come into my room</span>
</p><p>
  <b>WilburSoot: </b>
  <span>i need to use this dm to talk to you but</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hears Phil entering his room while he's typing that out. Phil looks at him with somewhat panicked eyes, concern in his glance. He relaxes when he sees that Wilbur's not in any physical harm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>From what he can see.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Will. What's up?" The blonde asks, going to sit down next to Wilbur. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The brown-haired man pulls out his phone and begins to type in their direct messages to each other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>WilburSoot: </b>
  <span>i uh.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <b>WilburSoot </b>
  <span>i kind of can't speak anymore</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil looks shocked, no, terrified. It makes Wilbur scoot the tiniest bit away, but he knows it breaks the other's heart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>WilburSoot: </b>
  <span>im sorry i didnt know this would happen either it's just</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Midway through typing that, Phil had wrapped his arms around the other. Wilbur melted into the touch, holding him back tightly. Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes as he fully realized what happened. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He can't talk anymore.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He can't say 'I love you' to his friends anymore. He can't sing them songs while they're having trouble falling asleep. He can't crack a joke to the group and make them all laugh midway through a conversation.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He can't tell Techno how good of a friend he is.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He can't tell Tommy how proud he is of his growth.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He can't tell Phil </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>his dad, but he'd never let Phil know he sees him that way </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>how much he cares about him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tears escaped him, but he didn't make a sound. He couldn't, not in this state. Phil held him tighter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey, hey, it's okay. We can figure out what happened. You don't have to cry." Wilbur pulled away from the hug at that and shook his head, pulling out his communicator and pulling up the vitals tab. The hardcore player saw the messages that were directed to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Permanent damage. </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He types back on his phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don't think you can help me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm so sorry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He backs away, to the corner of his bed, dissolving into quiet sobbing as he leans his head back and tightly grips his hair. He sees Phil typing something in the corner of his vision, but he doesn't care about that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>------------</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil didn't feel like his heart could break even more, but here it was, shattering at the sight of Wilbur. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The damage may be permanent. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Cannot be repaired.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then he glances up at Wilbur, the usually beaming man who would be ready to get into debates whenever possible, the life of the group aside from Tommy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is a different man. This is a different person in general. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tears welled up in his eyes, breaking apart, obviously hating himself for something that wasn't even his fault.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blonde wishes he could do something to help, but he knows that there isn't much he can do that isn't comforting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just wants Wilbur </span>
  <span>his son </span>
  <span>to be okay in the end. He doesn't care what it takes. He would do anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Ph1lza, Technoblade, TommyInnit</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Ph1lza: </b>
  <span>fuck</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ph1lza: </b>
  <span>this is bad</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Technoblade: </b>
  <span>what's up?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>TommyInnit: </b>
  <span>what is wrong Philza Minecraft ?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ph1lza: </b>
  <span>wilbur's lost his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Technoblade: </b>
  <span>like, for real. you're not joking.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>TommyInnit: </b>
  <span>i don't think he would be joking Tech No Blade</span>
</p><p>
  <b>TommyInnit: </b>
  <span>Technoblade* sorry autocorrect</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Technoblade: </b>
  <span>it's cool.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ph1lza: </b>
  <span>wish i was joking mate</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ph1lza: </b>
  <span>hes sobbing right now, my hearts breaking just hearing it</span>
</p><p>
  <b>TommyInnit: </b>
  <span>we'll be home from school soon, techno's just gotta pick me up</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ph1lza: </b>
  <span>i'll do my best to help him out but.. i can't do much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He puts his phone down and looks at Wilbur, who's dissolved into a sniffling mess, knees curled up to his chest as he holds them tight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur looks at Phil with a glazed over look in his eyes, tears blurring together what was once a familiar form to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn't like this. He hates this. He opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is more strained words, and a bit of blood that he coughs up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey, hey, don't strain yourself now, Will. We know you can't talk, but you don't have to force yourself to."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil's phone dings. A new message from Wilbur, who had just put his phone down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>WilburSoot: </b>
  <span>what if i want to</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Then.. I don't know, I'll be stricter on caring for you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I just want to let you know I care for you, okay? Please.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>We can't lose you." </em>
  </b>
</p>
  </div></div>
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